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- [00:00]
Indeed Advertiser
Wondery subscribers can listen to against the Odds early and ad free right now. Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.
- [00:09]
Cassie Depechel
A listener note against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. This episode contains explicit language Joe Simpson drives his axes into the ice and pulls himself up the slope, dragging his broken leg behind him. Above, a narrow beam of sunlight spills through a hole in the roof of the crevasse. He stares up at the light, willing himself to draw strength from it. It's close to 1pm on June 9, 1985, six days since he and Simon left base camp and two days since they stood on the summit. Yester after Joe broke his leg, Simon spent hours lowering him by rope 3,000ft down the mountain. But near the bottom, Simon unknowingly lowered him over a sheer cliff. Joe hung in midair for nearly an hour, tied to Simon and unable to take his weight off. Then he fell, plummeting into a deep crevasse. But somehow he landed on a narrow ledge and survived the hundred foot drop. After catching his breath, Joe realized the rope had been cut. Simon was no longer attached. After a dreadful night alone in the dark and accepting no one would be coming to help him, Joe had no choice but to rappel down deeper into the crevasse. Amazingly, when he reached the bottom, he saw a way out. Now he's inching up a steep 45 degree slope toward the light at the top of the dome, about 130ft high. The climb is agonizingly slow. What would Normally take him 10 minutes with two good legs has already taken over two and a half hours. Then he feels sunlight warm on his face. He looks up. He's almost there. But the slope steepens sharply as he nears the top. He drives his axes in deeper and pulls with everything he has left. Finally, he pokes his head through the snow roof like a gopher emerging from its burrow. He plants his axes in the snow and drags himself out of the crevasse. The sky is bright and clear. The mountains surrounding him are more beautiful than he's ever seen them. The world feels brand new, still and sacred. He lets out a small wild laugh. He's out. He's alive. Then Joe turns back and his heart sinks. There, hanging down on the right hand side of the ice cliff, is the rope, the other half of their line, the section that stayed with Simon. The site confirms what Joe feared. Simon made it down. He saw the crevasse, and he left, believing Joe was dead. Joe turns his gaze forward again, down to the glacier 200ft below that stretches away into a wide, rocky valley. And with the tent somewhere beyond, familiar dread creeps back in. He's dehydrated, his leg is broken, his fingers are frostbitten, and there's still a long way to go. He grabs his axes and begins sliding down, inch by inch. He figures he'll probably die out there, but at least now he has a chance to confront death head on rather than wait for it to take him. If he's going to die, he'll meet it halfway.
- [04:03]
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- [04:38]
Nick Cannon
It's your man, Nick Cannon, and I'm here to bring you my new podcast, Nick Cannon at Night. Every week, I'm bringing out some of my celebrity friends and the best experts in the business to answer your most intimate relationship questions. So don't be shy, join the conversation, and head over to YouTube to watch Nick Cannon at Night or subscribe on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcast.
- [05:03]
Cassie Depechel
From. Wondery I'm Cassie Depechel, and this is against the odds. On June 7, 1985, two British climbers, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, became the first people to summit the west face of Cula Grande, a towering 21,000 foot peak in the Peruvian Andes. But on the way down, disaster struck. Joe fell and shattered his right knee. In a desperate attempt to save him, Simon began lowering him down the mountain 300ft at a time. But as darkness fell and a blizzard set in, Simon, unable to see, lowered him over the edge of a cliff. For nearly an hour, he fought to hold Joe's weight as he dangled in space. But in the end, Simon made the only choice he could to save himself. He cut the rope and returned to base camp, certain his friend had fallen into a crevasse and died. Yet somehow, Joe survived and hauled himself out, but with six more miles of brutal terrain ahead. Escaping the crevasse was only the beginning of his fight to stay alive. This is episode three. Keep moving. Simon Yates stumbles through the rock field in a daze of heat and thirst. The lack of food and water over the past 24 hours has taken its toll. His mouth is bone dry, and the lure of water is the only thing keeping him moving. He's aiming for a spot he remembers, about halfway back to Base Camp, where melting snow streamed over a granite boulder. He weaves through the endless rockf replaying everything that happened on the mountain. It feels like he's reliving a year of his life, not just six days. He doesn't feel guilt so much as a slow, deepening ache of loss and sorrow. Crossing the glacier had been harrowing. He felt much more vulnerable, alone without a rope. Without Joe, every step could have been his last. But now that he's off the ice, he's fairly sure he's going to live. As he moves through the boulders, the smell of water hits him. He hears it, too, trickling beneath the rocks. So close, yet unreachable. Then, finally, he spots it. The rounded boulder where he drank days earlier. A faint ribbon of water glistens down its flank. A surge of energy pushes him forward, but when he reaches it, the flow is barely a trickle. He digs a small hollow in the gravel at the base. It fills gradually. He sucks back a gritty mouth. Mouthful. Then another. It's not enough to quench his thirst, but it's enough to keep him going. One more hour, maybe. It's a lonely place to rest, this boulder where he and Joe once sat. He doesn't linger. He sets off again, toward the first turquoise lake. But as he walks, dread creeps in. He's about to see Richard, the new friend who's been watching their gear. How will he explain to Richard what happened? And then to everyone back home? He knows he made the right decision, that he has nothing to be ashamed of. But all he can think about is the disbelief, the judgment, the criticism he's bound to face. They won't understand. He can already picture the doubt in their eyes. They'll think, I could have tried harder. He can hardly believe it himself. They certainly won't. In the world of mountaineering, the bond between partners is sacred. Cutting the rope is unheard of. It feels like blasphemy. And Joe's parents? He can't even bear to imagine what they'll say. He considers inventing a simpler story, one that makes him look better. If he says they'd unroped and Joe fell Into a crevasse while descending? Who would question? Happens all the time. Why tell them the truth? Why say he cut the rope? Why cause more anguish for himself and everyone else? Simon reaches the second lake near base camp. As he walks up to the final rise, his mind is a battlefield, rational arguments clashing against guilt and fear. What should I say? He doesn't want to lie, but the thought of telling the truth feels impossible. No, he tells himself, the whole truth would only bring more pain. Richard Hawking walks slowly with his head down as he follows the path out of base camp. He's anxious. Simon and Joe were supposed to be back yesterday at the latest. A knot tightens in his stomach. They must be hurt, maybe worse. He spent the past six days alone trying to entertain himself in the empty camp. At first he enjoyed the vastness of the place, the quiet, the beauty. But soon the loneliness turned oppressive. He'd been looking forward to their return, to hearing epic stories. When they didn't come back and another full day passed, he knew something was wrong. He couldn't go back to Lima without trying to find out what happened. He only met Simon and Joe a couple of weeks ago and doesn't even know their last names. So he packed a small bag and set out, hoping to find them. If he's being honest with himself, he thinks they're probably dead. They must have fallen. Maybe he'll spot their bodies on the glacier. As he climbs the trail, Richard looks up and suddenly stops. He sees a figure cresting the rise, coming toward him. He stares. The man is barely recognizable. Thin, sunburnt, filthy. But then their eyes meet. Richard can hardly believe it. Simon. I was so worried. I was on my way to look for you guys. Richard walks toward him. But as he gets closer, his relief begins to fade. He sees Simon's face is hollow. Exhausted. He looks like he's about to cry. Richard scans the trail behind him, but there's no one. Where's Joe? Simon doesn't answer. He just stands, like he's searching for words. Is he dead? Simon nods. They walk back to camp together in silence. Richard doesn't want to pry. He can see Simon is in shock and needs time. Back at the tents, Richard hands Simon a chocolate bar and quietly gets to work. Boiling water. Simon drops onto his pack and just stares down at his frostbitten fingers. Eventually, Richard looks over and sees Simon watching him. They exchange a small, tired smile. Then, gently, Richard speaks. Did Joe fall? Simon nods again. Then, at last, he speaks. Yes, he fell. There was nothing I could do. Richard doesn't ask anything else, he just nods quietly and pours Simon a cup of tea. Joe props himself on his left side, keeping his shattered knee off the ice, and hauls himself forward with his axes. The glacier stretches ahead in frozen waves of hard packed snow. As he crests the next ridge, he pauses to scan the surface for more tracks. It had been a relief when he first spotted Simon's footprints. The shadowy marks are the only thing helping him navigate this maze of deadly crevasses. He knows Simon would have chosen the safest path without a rope. All Joe has to do is follow. It's past 3pm and he's not covering nearly as much ground as he'd hoped. He's moving at a snail's pace, stopping often to rest, massage his numb hands and eat a little snow, more to wet his mouth than hydrate. He wonders if Simon is already back at base camp, if Simon set out early this morning as Joe believes he should be arriving about now. Joe's thoughts begin to drift. He imagines people back home in Sheffield, where he lives. When he's not climbing in Chamonix. He pictures his favorite pub. Then he thinks of his mother, and hot tears sting his eyes. He wants to break down and sob. But then a voice, cool, steady, almost separate from him, interrupts his stream of thoughts. Keep going. It's not a plea, it's a command, and he obeys, dragging himself forward to the next set of footprints. After another hour, he's circled far enough around the glacier to escape the shadow of the mountain. The crevasse, the ice cliff, the towering west face. They're all behind him now. But the relief doesn't. Last afternoon clouds are rolling in and the light is starting to fade. The voice grows more urgent. Hurry up. Joe digs in his axes and drags himself forward. Then the wind picks up and panic surges through him. The footprints, his lifeline, are starting to disappear beneath the blowing snow. Quick. Faster, before you lose the tracks. He listens to the voice and keeps moving as fast as he can. Simon sips his tea by the cooking area and begins to tell Richard everything. I was seconds away from being dragged off the mountain. He hadn't planned to, but the words are now spilling out on their own. How it happened, how he tried to help, how he had no other choice. Richard doesn't respond. He listens without judgment, just quiet understanding. Earlier, when they first got back to camp, Simon told him simply that Joe had fallen, that there was nothing he could do. That had been the plan, to keep it simple. But now, after a hot meal. His body has calmed down and the truth is coming out as he keeps talking. Simon realizes he's glad. Sure, he could have spared himself some anguish by staying quiet, but the more he opens up, the more he understands this story matters. The rescue in the storm, the rope lowering system they built, how hard they fought. It wouldn't feel right just to say Joe fell. Not after everything Joe endured. That would be a betrayal to his friend and to what they accomplished together. We made it almost all the way down. It was incredible what we did until. Simon's voice trails off. Richard looks at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. I figured something really bad must have happened. I'm just glad you're all right. Simon exhales, flooded with relief and gratitude for Richard's understanding and for the fact he hadn't come searching for them on the glacier in his running shoes. That would have been another disaster. After endless cups of tea, the light starts to fade and clouds roll in. Simon crawls into the tent he used to share with Joe and settles into his sleeping bag. In the dim light, he notices some of Joe's things still scattered near the back. He lays his head down and listens to the first drops of rain tapping gently on the nylon above. He closes his eyes, but the image of last night's storm is still with him. He knows it must be snowing up there now, and he can picture it falling into the crevasse at the bottom of the ice cliff, slowly burying Joe's body. Eventually he drifts off, still picturing the place where he left his friend behind. Joe drags himself on his side across the glacier as the snow swirls over the surface. He's hurrying as fast as possible as the storm closes in, but already he can barely see more than a few yards ahead. He pops his head up and squints ahead, searching for Simon's fading footprints, his only guide through this maze of crevasses. He had been happily following the footprints. They made him feel less alone, as if Simon was right here with him. But now the light is fading quickly, the snow is falling harder, and he's growing more panicked. He keeps crawling, moving on his side fast in short bursts, zigzagging, looping, trying to guess the right path forward. All he has to go on is instinct and desperation. Soon it's dark and all he wants to do is sleep. He lays down, defeated, and closes his eyes, but the wind slaps him awake and the voice cuts in. Don't sleep here. If you do, you might not ever wake up. He forces himself to keep moving, inching forward blindly. Then suddenly he hears a deep, low roar, louder than the wind, like an avalanche or a cornice breaking loose. Above a sudden blast of ice fragments slams into him, sweeping over with tremendous force. He covers, but the impact knocks him forward into the darkness. His knee explodes in pain as he rolls, then slides to a jarring stop. For a moment he just lies there, gasping for breath. When he turns and looks back, he sees a massive bank of snow looming behind him. That's when it registers how close he just came to being buried alive. But what nearly killed him might just save him. Gritting his teeth, he claws his way back up and starts carving a shallow cave into the packed snow. When it's done, he knocks off his crampons with the end of his axe and crawls inside the hole with his sleeping bag. The space is too cramped to stretch out in, but he doesn't care. He's out of the storm and safe for now. He's been craving sleep, but now that he's found shelter, he can't relax. Adrenaline and fear still pulse through him. His knee throbs with pain, and every time he closes his eyes he feels like he's back in the crevasse again. So he lies there with his eyes open like a child afraid of the dark, until finally his eyelids surrender and he sinks into a heavy slumber.
- [20:50]
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- [22:01]
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- [22:19]
Cassie Depechel
Is that guy with the binoculars watching us?
- [22:22]
Liberty Mutual Advertiser
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- [22:38]
Cassie Depechel
Simon Yates walks to the edge of the lake and stares out at the sparkling turquoise water. It's a beautiful day. The mountains are spectacular, but he doesn't care. The view means nothing now. He hates this place for its cruelty, for what it made him do. It's morning on June 10th. It's hard to believe that just yesterday, around this time, he was stumbling across a glacier, still unsure if he'd make it back alive. Joe has been dead for 36 hours, but it feels like weeks. For the first time since the accident, he's no longer in survival mode and the guilt is flooding back. He keeps telling himself he had no choice, that he did everything he could, but part of him doesn't believe it. He might as well have put a gun to Joe's head and pulled the trigger. That's how it feels. His rational mind knows he didn't kill Joe, and yet he can't escape the feeling that he did. It was his hand on the knife that cut the rope, his decision that sent Joe plummeting to his death. He strips off his filthy clothes and wades into the freezing lake. The water bites, bites at his skin, but he welcomes it with numb, blackened fingers. He scrubs himself, his face, scalp, chest, legs. Methodically, almost aggressively. He shaves. He scrubs his climbing gear, too. He's trying to wash it all away. The dirt, the mountain, the decision, the grief. The guilt. His hands are shaking, but he keeps scrubbing. He needs time to recover, to regain his strength and get his mind back. He tells himself again, Joe is dead. I'm not. But that doesn't quiet the accusatory voices in his head. Not yet. He knows he needs to find some kind of peace within himself before he can face anyone else. Their questions and their judgment. Once he makes sense of it all, then maybe he'll be able to explain it. He puts on the clean clothes he brought with him and walks slowly back to camp. Today he has one plan. Eat, drink, rest. And try. Just try to go easy on himself. Joe Simpson wakes up screaming as light floods his eyes, dragging him out of a nightmare. For a moment he thinks he's back in the crevasse. His heart's racing. Then it comes back to him. He's no longer on that ledge in the dark. He's on the glacier. In the snow cave he dug last night. Relief washes over him. The dream felt too real. But even if he's not trapped anymore, he's still alone, still miles from base camp, still with a broken leg. He crawls out of the snow hole and scans the glacier in the bright light. No more footprints. Just blank white waves ahead. Is this how it ends? Crawling? Falling to my death? He balances on his axes and hops onto his left foot for a better view. Something feels familiar. He straightens up, then sees it. The start of the rock field. Carefully, he makes his way forward until at last, he's off the glacier and free of the deadly crevasses. He looks out at the endless boulders stretching into the distance. Maybe the glacier was the easy part. He's desperately thirsty. How many days has it been without food or water? Two days? Three nights? He isn't that hungry. He still has reserves, but his tongue is thick and coated. His body's running on fumes. He wants to cry, but that would be a waste of energy. Crawling isn't an option, not here, not on this terrain. He'll have to hop, and he knows he's going to fall a lot. He empties his pack and ditches anything he doesn't need. Then he unrolls his yellow foam mat and wraps it tightly around his knee. Wincing at the pain. He takes the straps from his crampons and clinches them around his upper thigh and calf, then grabs two more straps from his bag and fastens them snug on either side of the joint. When he lifts his leg, the knee holds stiff. Good. He braces himself against a boulder, slings his bag over his shoulder and starts hopping. He makes it a few steps and falls again and again. Every time he lands, his knee twists and he's squirrels. The pain is excruciating. Each fall feels like his leg is breaking all over again. He grips an axe in his right hand, punching it forward like a walking stick. Gradually, he starts to perfect the motion. Falling less, popping farther. He finds a rhythm. Place the axe. Swing the foot. Hop. Place, swing, hop. The pattern becomes a chant. He thinks only in terms of small goals. He picks out a landmark, say, a red rock, and gives himself a time limit. I'm going to get there in 20 minutes. It becomes a game, a way to impose structure and focus on something other than the pain. When he beats the clock, he feels good. When he doesn't, he's furious. But either way, it keeps him moving and it keeps his mind off the big picture, the one screaming, you're completely fucked. The cold, pragmatic voice is calling the shots again. Get up. Move. Again. It doesn't care that he's tired or hurting. He will get there no matter the pain. He has to. After two hours, he glances back at the glacier. It already looks distant, his spirits lit and the voice keeps urging him on. Place. Swing hop. Just do it. Don't think. He doesn't know how far he'll make it, but he'll keep moving as long as he can. Simon opens his eyes to sunlight glowing through the tent walls. He feels much better. It's June 11, his second morning back at base camp. The deep tiredness he felt yesterday is gone. Only his blackened fingertips remain and the hollow ache in his chest. He steps outside and walks to the cooking area where Richard is crouched beside the stove as they eat bowls of porridge. Simon can sense something's on Richard's mind and he knows what it is. Last night Richard brought up the idea of heading back to Lima. He needs to renew his visa and there's nothing keeping them here anymore. Simon told him he needed a bit more time to rest and recover. It was definitely true yesterday, but today he's feeling stronger. And yet the mountains still have a hold on him. He doesn't exactly know why. It's no longer that he's afraid of what people back home might say. He's made peace with that. He now believes that he too was a victim and that surviving isn't a crime. Of course, the guilt hasn't totally gone away. It probably never will. But for now, at least, he can bear it. Richard glances over at him. Feeling better? Simon nods, avoiding his eyes. Yes, much better. It's just my fingers now. I think we should leave, Simon. Staying here won't help. You need proper medical attention. Yeah, I suppose you're right. Richard offers to head down into the valley where there are a few huts to arrange donkeys for the two day trek back to the nearest village. Simon doesn't respond. He doesn't understand why he's so reluctant to leave. He just is, even though he knows there's nothing more to be done here. Richard turns to him. Look, he's not coming back. You know that. And we've got things to do. Simon nods slowly. Richard disappears into his tent, grabs his money belt and starts off down the trail. Simon watches him go. Then suddenly Richard, wait. Richard stops and turns. You're right. Just tell them to bring the donkeys tomorrow. Not today. We'll leave first thing in the morning. Richard nods and heads off. Simon returns to the tent and begins packing. He sorts through all of Joe's belongings. His diary, his used rolls of film. He gathers everything he can to send back to Joe's parents. There isn't much. There's just one thing left to do. A symbolic act. A goodbye. He piles up Joe's clothes, douses them with fuel and sets them on fire. Then he steps back and watches the flames rise, burning the last trace of his friend. Joe stumbles through the rocks, desperate for water, forcing himself to focus on the next landmark ahead. He keeps hearing water trickling beneath him, but he can't find it. He must be losing his mind. It's his second day in this endless boulder field. Yesterday, as it was getting dark, he kept falling and eventually he just couldn't get back up. So he slept there, wedged between the rocks. He can hardly believe how far he's deteriorated, how slow and weak he become. He's lost a shocking amount of weight and his mind is playing tricks on him. Even now he thinks he sees a thin stream of water pouring over a boulder, probably another hallucination, but he can't stop himself from checking. As he gets closer, he sees that it's just the slow drip, but it's real. He hops forward and collapses at the base of the boulder. He scrapes out a shallow pool in the gravel, plunges his face in and slurps with every mouthful. He can feel strength pulsing back into his body. He gulps until his stomach aches, then drinks more. Grit catches in his throat, but he doesn't care. Three days and nights without water have turned him feral. Then he remembers he's been here before with Simon. Eight days ago. They sat right here, laughing, full of excitement for the climb ahead. Now it's just him, but the water has revived him. For the first time, he thinks maybe he can make it. Then the next thought hits him like a punch to the chest. What if no one's there? Simon would have returned three days ago. Why would they still be here? If there's any chance they are? He has to reach them today. He pushes forward, hopping and crawling out of the rock field, dragging his shattered leg behind him, gripped by the growing fear that he's already too late. Around 4pm he finally reaches the first turquoise lake and drinks some more. On the other side, he should be able to look down into the valley and see the tents. If he can just get a little further, maybe they'll hear him. But the sun is fading fast. As he begins to circle the lake, thick clouds roll in and the temperature drops sharply. By the time he claws his way onto the ridge overlooking the valley, the light is gone and the world below is lost in fog. If the tents are still there, he can't see them. He cups his hands and shouts into the haze. Simon. His voice echoes back off the clouds. He screams again. Simon. No answer. It's too late. They're already gone. Joe slumps down onto the rocky slope, trembling, sobbing, crushed. He doesn't know what to do next. What's the point of carrying on? All he wants to do is crawl into his sleeping bag and give up. He's never felt more pathetic. What a wuss. Sure, over the past three days he's discovered a strength he never knew he had. But mostly he's learned just how weak he can be. Whatever illusions he once held of being tough or brave have been shattered, chipped away with every fall, every scream, he feels totally destroyed. His body's still here, but he's lost himself. Simon shuffles the deck and deals the cards in the soft candlelight of the tent. Your turn to go first. After packing all their gear into evenly balanced loads, he and Richard have retreated inside for a game of gin rummy. It's around 6pm A local shepherd is bringing the donkeys tomorrow at dawn. Now that the decision's been made, Simon feels a strange sense of relief. They still have a long walk ahead, and once they're back in Lima, there's a lot to take care of. The embassy, the flights. Suddenly a long, eerie wail rises from the valley. What the hell is that? Richard barely looks up. He lays down a card, picks up another. Dogs. Simon frowns. Bloody odd sounding dog. When you were up on the mountain, I heard all sorts of weird noises at night. Scared the hell out of me. They shrug it off, finish their game, and eventually settle into their sleeping bags. As Simon closes his eyes, the hollow ache in his chest presses down heavier than before. In a few hours they'll be heading back, and then he'll have to do the hardest thing imaginable. Call Joe's parents. He has no idea how he'll find the words.
- [37:52]
Nick Cannon
It's your man, Nick Cannon, and I'm here to bring you my new podcast, Nick Cannon At Night. I've heard y' all been needing some advice in the love department. So who better to help than yours truly? Nah, I'm serious. Every week I'm bringing out some of my celebrity friends and the best experts in the business to answer your most intimate relationship Questions Having problems with your man? We got you catching feelings for your sneaky link. Let's make sure it's the real deal first. Ready to bring toys into the bedroom? Let's talk about it. Consider this a non judgment zone to ask your questions when it comes to to sex and modern dating in relationships, friendships, situationships and everything in between. It's gonna be sexy, freaky, messy and you know what? You'll just have to watch the show. So don't be shy, join the conversation and head over to YouTube to watch Nick Cannon at night or subscribe on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcast. Wanna watch episodes early and ad free? Join Wondery right now.
- [38:50]
Matt Ford
In November 1974, IRA bombs ripped through two Birmingham pubs, killing 21 innoc people. Hundreds more were injured. It was the worst attack on British soil since the Second World War.
- [39:01]
Alice Levine
When a crime this appalling and shocking happens, you want the police to act quickly. And boy did they. The very next day they had six men in custody. Confessions followed and the men were sent down for life.
- [39:14]
Matt Ford
Good riddance, you might think. Except those men were innocent. Join me, Matt Ford, and me, Alice Levine, for the latest series of British Scandal all about the Birmingham Six.
- [39:26]
Alice Levine
It's the story of how a terrible tragedy morphed into a travesty of justice, and how one man couldn't rest until he'd exposed the truth.
- [39:35]
Matt Ford
Follow British Scandal now wherever you listen to podcasts and binge entire series early and ad free on Wondery Plus.
- [39:58]
Cassie Depechel
Joe drags himself forward on his belly, crawling and flopping through the darkness. It's past midnight, June 12th now. His headlamp died hours ago. He's moving on instinct, lost in a blur of exhaust, exhaustion and confusion. His only goal is to reach the far bank of the lake where the tents had been. If he dies there, at least someone might find his body. He'd thought about giving up earlier, up at the top of the valley, but the voice told him, if you die here, no one will ever know what happened to you. Now he keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, caught in a swirl of hallucination, some vivid and comforting, others strange and disorienting. Am I still on the glacier? Where am I? He doesn't know anymore. It's pitch black. Then suddenly he's alert again. A sharp, foul stench cuts through his delirium. Why am I smelling shit? It takes a moment to register. Then it hits him. He must have crawled through the camp's latrine area, just 100 yards from where the tents were pitched. He howls into the dark. Simon. No answer. Warm tears mix with the drifting snowflakes on his face. He realizes now hope was the real mistake. This stench is the final literal confirmation he's not getting out of this. For the first time, he accepts it. He can't go any further. He's done. He collapses into the filth. Defeated tears of self pity spill down his cheeks. This is where I die alone. Simon snaps awake with a strange feeling in his gut. The wind still howls outside the tent. But something's different. There's another sound. Faint, distant. Almost human. What was that? He sits up, listening hard. A few seconds pass. Then he hears it again. A long wailing cry. This time he's sure it's not a dog. Dog? It's a voice. He freezes. His heart starts pounding. And then it hits him. The only thing it could be is Joe. But that's impossible. Joe is dead. He died four days ago. Simon holds his breath, straining to hear. Then there it is again. Clearer. Simon explodes out of his sleeping bag. RICHARD get up. They scramble into boots and jackets, grab their headlamps and run toward the sound. Joe? Joe, is that you? His beam catches something and he stops. A shape on the ground. And then the light hits. A face. Filthy, hollow eyed ghost. Like it's Joe. Simon can't believe what he's seeing. Joe looks like something dragged out of a nightmare. Is this real? Is this really happening? Joe sees an electric flash. Red and green, cutting through the dark. It glows, pulses in his dazed mind. Only one thought forms. A spaceship. Then another flash. A strong beam of yellow light and voices. Not his own. Other people's voices. They're still here. Where's Joe? The realization is so shocking he can't move. His body is paralyzed. But tears spill from his eyes. Joe, is that you? Joe tries to shout but can't make a sound. Just broken sobs. He lifts his head slightly and sees a bobbing light zigzagging toward him. Over there. Over there. The light shines in his face, blinding him. He squeezes his eyes shut. Then Simon's face appears. JOE oh my God. Look at you. Fucking hell. Shit. Richard hold him. Lift him. God. JOE How? How? How? Simon's words tumble out like his mind can't keep up with what he's seeing. And then Joe feels strong arms around his chest, lifting him. The sensation of being held is indescribable. Aang Help me. Please help me. I've got you. Don't worry. You're safe. They drag him while he continues sobbing back to the tent and gently lay him inside. Richard leaves to heat water and make porridge. Simon kneels beside him, just staring. Stunned, Joe smiles through cracked lips. Thank you, Simon, for everything you did. Simon turns quickly away, averting his eyes. For a moment there's only silence. But in the warm candlelight, Joe catches the the same expression he'd seen on Simon's face at the ice cliff. Pity. Horror. Disbelief. Simon pulls out the medicine bag and lifts a mug to Joe's lips. With every sip of tea he hands him another pill, trying to stabilize him. Then the questions spill out. Joe speaks hoarsely, recounting everything. The fall, the ledge, the rappel deeper into the crevasse, the climb out the glacier. The voice. Simon listens, still staring in disbelief. Then he tells Joe what happened after he cut the rope. The guilt, the grief. The days it took just to pull his mind together. I couldn't bear it. I didn't know what I was going to tell your parents. Sorry, Mrs. Simpson. And Joe's dead. I cut the rope. Joe reaches out and touches his hand. It's okay. You don't have to tell them now. Anyway, thanks. Simon still can't meet his eyes. He seems embarrassed. Joe glances around the tent, changing the subject. Where are my clothes? Simon shrugs. I burned them. Joe stares at him, stunned. You what? Well, I thought you weren't. There's a long pause, then Simon bursts out laughing at Joe's expression. Joe laughs with him. First a chuckle, then full on manic laughter. The image of his underwear burning outside the tent is too absurd to bear. The tension breaks. Finally they're alive. Simon Spoon feeds porridge to Joe, urging him to swallow more. Eat it. I'm trying. It's hard. Bit by bit, the old Joe starts to surface. Stubborn, sarcastic, already annoyed about the burned clothes. But his body tells a different story. His face is sunken, he looks skeletal, like he's lost a third of his body weight. And his breath has a sharp chemical tang, like nail polish remover. Simon knows what it means. Starvation. When the body runs out of food, it burns fat and muscle for fuel. The liver produces ketones and the breath takes on that sweet acetone smell. Joe's system is beginning to shut down. He needs an IV fast. I want to get a look at your leg. Joe starts to protest, but Simon insists, calm but firm. Don't worry, I'll be careful. Richard braces Joe's right leg while Simon slowly pulls off the boot. Joe screams in agony as it finally gives way. For Christ's sake. Then Simon grabs a Swiss army knife and carefully cuts open the pants. Joe flinches, though Simon can't tell if it's from the pain or the sight of the now infamous blade. They all stare at the leg, stunned into silence. Richard looks like he might be sick. Bloody hell, it's gigantic. Joe's right leg is grotesquely swollen. There's no separation between thigh, knee or ankle, just one massive column of bruised yellow and brown flesh. Simon examines it closely. There's no sign of infection yet, but it's bad. Worse than he expected. You've broken your heel too. Oh, well, it'll mend. We need to get you to a hospital. See those purple streaks? They're early signs of hemorrhaging. Joe shakes his head, defiant even now. I can't spend two days riding a donkey. Not yet. I need more time. Simon is more worried than he lets on. Joe has frostbite on his leg too. If they wait any longer, it'll get infected for sure. You need help and every minute counts. Joe doesn't fight it. He just nods. Simon wraps him in a sleeping bag and offers a reassuring smile. Joe keeps thanking him. Him over and over, and it makes Simon uncomfortable. He doesn't feel like he deserves it. He cut the rope. He left him to die. But Joe doesn't seem to hold it against him, not even a little. And that means everything. Simon knows people back home will talk, they'll judge, they'll say what they would have done. But Joe's opinion is that the only one that matters to him. Joe lies in the tent beside Simon, bundled up, drifting on the edge of sleep. He still can't believe they hadn't left yet. It hadn't even crossed his mind that Simon might have needed time. Not just to recover physically, but to process everything. That maybe he wasn't in a hurry to get home to face their friends, to face the questions, to explain that he cut the rope. Guilt must have been eating him alive. Joe thinks he's exhausted, beyond tired. But before he closes his eyes, there's one more thing he needs to say. Simon. Yeah? I don't blame you. You did everything you could getting me down as far as you did. You saved my life. There's a long silence. Simon doesn't answer right away. In the soft candlelight, Joe can see his eyes are still open, staring at the ceiling, and there are tears on his cheeks. I saved your life. I cut the rope. I sent you falling into the crevasse and that's why we're both still alive. If you hadn't we both would have died. Simon Ship shakes his head. I just wish I'd stayed longer, that I'd taken a proper look inside. But I thought you were gone. I was sure of it. I couldn't imagine anyone surviving that fall. Joe turns his head towards Simon. It's okay. I get it. Anyone would have thought that. Anyway, it doesn't matter. We're here. It's all over. Simon exhales, nodding slowly. Yeah, we made it. Joe feels tears welling up as his eyelids fall shut and a moment later, he's asleep. Joe spent two agonizing days riding a donkey, followed by more than 20 hours in the back of a pickup truck to reach Lima. Four days after dragging himself back to base camp and eight days after shattering his leg, he finally arrived at a hospital. He'd lost nearly 42 pounds. After six surgeries and two years of rehab, he returned to climbing on less extreme mountains. Joe went on to write Touching the Void, a memoir of their near fatal ordeal. It became an international battle bestseller and was later adapted into a critically acclaimed documentary. In 2003, he built a new life as an author and public speaker. Simon continued chasing summits around the world. He published three memoirs and also speaks publicly about his experiences. In 2023 he survived a 300 foot fall into Tajikistan, breaking five ribs and crushing two vertebrae. He's still climbing today. Simon faced some criticism in the aftermath of Cielo Grande, but Joe always defended him. The dedication in Touching the Void reads to Simon Yates for a debt I can never repay.
- [53:42]
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- [54:03]
Cassie Depechel
This is the third episode of our three part series Cula Grande over the Edge. A quick note about our scenes in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this story, we recommend the book Touching the Void by Joe Simpson. Our story consultant for this series is Simon Yates. If you'd like to learn more about his adventures in mountaineering, check out his book the Wild within. Available wherever you get your books. I'm your host Cassie Depechel. Rachel Matlow wrote this. Sound design by Ouse Audio Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Original Theme music Scott Velasquez and 2K for freesound sync produced by Alita Rozanski. Managing producer is Desi Blaylock. Senior managing producer is Callan Plum. Senior producers are Andy Herman and Rachel Matlow. Executive producers are Jenny, Laura Beckman, Stephanie Jens Marshall, Louie and Erin o'. Flaherty. We're wondering.
- [55:03]
Denise Chan
Denise hi, I'm Denise Chan, host of Scam Factory. You might remember hearing about our investigative series that exposed what's really happening behind those scenes. Suspicious texts you get inside heavily guarded compounds across Asia. Thousands are trapped and forced to scam others or risk torture. One of our most powerful stories was Jella's a young woman who thought she'd found her dream job only to end up imprisoned in a scam compound. Her escape story caught the attention of criminals Phoebe Judge and I'm honored to share more details of Jella's journey with their audience. Bajella's story is just one piece of this investigation. In Scam Factory, we reveal how a billion dollar criminal empire turns job seekers into prisoners and how the only way out is to scam your way out. Ready to uncover the full story, binge all episodes of Scam Factory now. Listen to Scam Factory on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts.